


All's Fair

by carolyn_claire



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Humor, Is it gen tho, Silly, is it really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:48:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29543325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolyn_claire/pseuds/carolyn_claire
Summary: "I didn't mean it," John murmured as he slipped his fingers into the waistband of Sherlock's trousers.Lestrade winced. "Um," he began.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Kudos: 8





	All's Fair

**Author's Note:**

> Humor masquerading as slash? Slash pretending to be humor? Mostly it's very silly and was lots of fun to write. Written in 2011 just to make some friends laugh.

***

"I'm not budging," Lestrade announced as he dropped heavily into the armchair. He stretched his legs out in front of him. "Not until those test results come in." 

Sherlock frowned at him. "How do you plan to--"

"Having them delivered here." He grinned cheekily up into Sherlock's deepening scowl. "And if they show what I think they will, and you really _did_ tamper with that evidence, your arse, as they say, is mine."

"Why, Lestrade, I didn't know you--"

"Yes, all right, me, your arse, something gay. Laugh all you like--now." Sherlock pouted, then looked sideways at his violin where it sat on the desk. Lestrade snorted. "Don't even start. If John can take it, so can I. You're not putting me off, I'm staying on the spot until this mess is sorted." He leaned forward and picked up a newspaper from the floor near his feet; Sherlock and John exchanged a long look. "And well past time, if you ask me. Which," he snapped the paper open and held it up in front of him, "I'm aware that you don't, as you never _ask_ before you do anything." He looked at the other two around the edge of his paper. "Maybe you'll think to, now." 

Sherlock prowled to the other end of the sitting room and glared out of the window.

John rubbed his forehead. "Even if he were to have, and I'm not saying that he did, but even if he _had_ \--"

Lestrade lowered the paper to his lap. "Are you saying that he didn't? Because I'll take your word for it, _Doctor_ Watson. If you tell me there was nothing done to that sample that wasn't done by my own people, if you'll _swear_ to that...." 

Sherlock looked over his shoulder, aiming a glare at the back of John's head. John pursed his lips. 

"No? You sure?" Lestrade smirked and went back to his paper. "Thought not." 

"Yes, John, thank you for that vote of confidence. I'm touched by your faith in me, truly." Sherlock flung one hand in the air as he turned back to the window, then folded his arms across his chest. "So nice to know where I stand, after all this time."

"Sherlock." John turned to face him, crossing his arms over his own chest as well. "You know I can't swear to something I wasn't there to see. Can I?" 

Sherlock barked out a laugh, still not looking at John. "Of course you _can_ , John. It's not a question of whether you _can_ , is it?" His voice dripped venom. Lestrade lowered his paper enough to see over the top.

"I think it is." John took a few steps forward, stopping midway between Lestrade, in his chair, and Sherlock, at the window. " _I_ happen to think honesty and credibility are both rather important."

"More important than I am, I suppose. No." Lestrade could just see Sherlock's raised hand past John's shoulder. "You needn't deny it, you make yourself very clear."

"I wasn't going to deny it." Sherlock made another bitter sound, which John ignored. "I was going to tell you what a complete ass you're being, actually."

" _I_?" Sherlock wheeled around, from what Lestrade could tell--he leaned sideways in his chair to get a better view around John's backside. " _I_ am being--oh, that's wonderful, _thank you_." He stalked past John and paced back in forth in the few feet of space in front of the coffee table. He had to turn frequently. "I ask for, what, a little faith? A little support from the one--"

"Oh, you ask for a great deal more than _that_." John's hands went to his hips as his chin lifted; Lestrade lowered the paper to the floor. "Seems I do little else _but_ give you what you ask for, and you do little else but take it. And do _I_ get any support shown to _me_? Or even a little consideration? Or do I get left in dirty alleyways while you scarper off after the next _clue_ , if that's what you must call them. How old was the last one, twenty-five? Twenty-two? He must have been _full_ of information."

"Not that _again_!" Sherlock gripped his hair as he shouted. "You and your never-ending _jealousy_ \--"

"As if you give me no reason!" John shouted back, poking Sherlock in the chest with two fingers.

Lestrade stood up slowly and reached toward them with one hand. "Hey, come on--"

Sherlock loomed over John, glaring daggers and breathing heavily. "Well, maybe if someone were a bit more _attentive_ in that area--"

"Well, maybe if someone were to make it _worth my while_ to be _attentive_...." 

"Oh!" Sherlock took a step back, his eyes and his nostrils wide. 

"Tuesday." John smirked. 

"I was tired!" Sherlock was practically shrieking. Lestrade stared.

"That's what chasing after _clues_ will do to you!" John's pitch was rising dangerously, as well.

"That is _it_!" Sherlock roared. He pushed past John, stomped into his bedroom and slammed the door. The skull print fell off the wall.

"Bloody hell," Lestrade murmured, and turned to look at John. John was facing away from him, now, one hand covering his eyes. "Look, I--"

John raised his other hand in a gesture for silence, then wrapped his arm around himself. His back moved suspiciously.

"Damn it." Lestrade stepped toward the door, then away, shifting uncertainly from foot to foot. He eyed John's back doubtfully, took a step in his direction, then stopped. It was very quiet.

In less than a minute Sherlock's bedroom door flew open, and he jogged back into the room. He took John by the shoulders and turned him, then wrapped his arms around him, blocking him from Lestrade's view. "Darling," he moaned. "I'm so sorry."

Lestrade's mouth dropped open.

John's arms slid up and around Sherlock's back, and his hands gripped Sherlock's shirt. "No, it's me," John sighed. Sherlock's head dipped forward, and, though Lestrade couldn't see much, the soft sounds that followed made him glad that he couldn't. 

"I didn't mean it," John murmured as he slipped his fingers into the waistband of Sherlock's trousers.

Lestrade winced. "Um," he began.

"I deserve much worse. Please forgive me, darling." Sherlock's shoulders moved as he, presumably, ran his hands over John's back. His neck bent lower, and Lestrade could see the top of John's head over Sherlock's shoulder, down to his eyes, which were closed. 

"Yes, sweetheart, _oh_ \--" John gasped. 

"Here, now." Lestrade took an unsteady step backwards toward the door as Sherlock bent his knees, grasped John's thighs and lifted him up. John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist as Sherlock sidestepped to the table, where he set John down gently, John's thighs open wide on either side of Sherlock's hips. John said something too soft for Lestrade to hear, and Sherlock chuckled as his hands moved between them. A belt buckle clinked.

"I'm going to go over to the lab and check on those results," Lestrade said, a little too loudly. "You two, you be, don't go--oh, hell." John moaned; Lestrade turned and ran down the stairs. The street door slammed behind him. 

"Right." Sherlock whirled and walked over to the window as John buckled his belt. "And he's gone. Let's get moving. Franklin will only be away from his office for another hour, maybe two, at most." 

John hopped off the table and looked around for his jacket. "What about the lab results?"

"Brent has them, down at Speedy's."

"That's who you texted while you were at the window?"

"And just in time." Sherlock grinned as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. "He texted back that he'd intercepted them while I was in the bedroom. Once we collect the rest of the contents of that vial, they'll be meaningless, anyway." 

"You could be a bit more gentle with the doors, you know." John pointed to the fallen print on their way out.

"You could lose a few pounds. Maybe you should speak to Mycroft." Sherlock took the stairs down to the landing two at a time. 

"I thought you said I need to lose, not gain." They were laughing as they slammed the street door behind them. Mrs. Hudson's jacket fell off the hook.

***


End file.
